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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23246890">third time’s the charm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/deumion/pseuds/pudgy%20puk'>pudgy puk (deumion)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>it sounds like a whisper [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Character Study, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fail sex, First Times, Large Cock, Porn with Feelings, Realistic Size Difference, Sensitive Ears, Size Difference, Size Kink, Tenderness, Vaginal Fingering</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:36:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,094</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23246890</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/deumion/pseuds/pudgy%20puk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephanivien and Joye figure certain matters out.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Stephanivien de Haillenarte/Joye</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>it sounds like a whisper [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1201918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>120</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>also known as “the softest thing i have ever written”</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In Ishgardian literature, a very few topics dominated, relative to the freer presses to be found southwards. Religious texts—Enchiridia, lives of the saints, commentaries, apologia, and more—were far and away the most common on the shelves of booksellers. Manuals on all subjects, from swordplay to sewing, cuisine to keeping warm, were also popular, as were the tightly-controlled histories and adventures—these dealt, most often, with war, dragons, quests, and survival in Coerthas’s inhospitable wilderness. But one topic in particular did something no other did, and managed to be everywhere and nowhere at once—that topic being, of course, the romantic, sexual, and erotic.</p><p>The censors pursued bawdry, lewdness, lasciviousness and all sorts of immorality with an indefatigable energy and thoroughness, with every book printed at a legitimate public press needing to be closely-read for indecency. And in fairness to them, Ishgardian writers were <em>fiendishly </em>clever when it came to disguising the topic (recently a cookbook, of all things, had to be pulled from shelves once its second meaning was fully grasped). And this was just for licensed presses—private and unlicensed ones, however hunted they were, were responsible for some works of stupendous eroticism. It is one of these that concerns this story—specifically, one tattered and dog-eared paperback, currently located between the mattress and the bedframe of a young woman, living just a borough out of the Brume, who had the distinction of being a maid, a machinist... and in secret, the mistress of the viscount de Haillenarte.</p><p>...Not like that. Or, no, yes, like that, but not quite. It was difficult. Yes, like that, in that he doted on her, said he loved her, gave her all she asked for. But no, not like that certain way associated with the word—Stephanivien was not using her, nor was their secrecy... <em>untowards</em>. If Joye was sure of anything in this life, it was that... and since his confession, some of the things she was less sure about had grown magnified, which brings us back to that little, much-consulted penny-dreadful.</p><p>Even if Joye had had a formal education, it still would have taught her less about carnal relations between men and women than that book and those of its ilk she’d managed to peruse. And the books did have the advantage of being a whole narrative, a whole series of events, in one piece and one place—a contrast to, say, gossip, rumors, fragments of eavesdropped conversations, and snatches of rude songs sung by drunken men. Joye’s mother had left in her young childhood, and she had no other living female relatives nearby—much less governesses, ladies-in-waiting, au pairs or the like, like the family she served had (and her best female friend, Hilda, had no greater interest in men than she did in any other unfortunate mess she’d trodden in). So Joye usually did not experience any self-conscious awkwardness about having acquired most of her understanding of matters sexual from illicit books, hastily printed and furtively sold.</p><p>But now that these matters were at hand—<em>in hand, </em>in her hands anxiously knotted in the sides of her shift—well, she couldn’t help but notice discrepancies between books and reality, between fantasy and fact. </p><p>For one, when women shivered in these circumstances it was never because of the chill of being so dressed. Nor were they so nervous as to shiver from that, either. These sorts of thoughts formed a nasty chorus in the back of Joye’s mind, a chanting that insisted she was wrong, she wasn’t ready—a chant she denied with all her heart. It was—<em>he</em> was—kissing Stephanivien had felt so good, his gentle hands on her body had felt so right—how could this be otherwise? And yet—looking at him now...</p><p>The books had ascribed all kinds of emotions to men in these moments. Sometimes they were shocked, scandalized, spluttering in incomprehension. Sometimes they acted immediately or near so, sweeping their paramour off her feet, carrying her off. And sometimes (these ones were the best), they were as rapt as if one of the Twelve stood before them. And right now, her standing before him, him sitting on the floor of her bedroom, her in a thin shift and small bodice and nothing else, he was that rapt, that enthralled, and yet something like anxiety creased his brow, and yet—</p><p>“Say something,” Joye said, wishing her voice didn’t tremble. If only he spoke, then she would know what to say, she’d have a heroine to mimic...</p><p>Stephanivien blinked. “You’re beautiful, my dear,” he said, and it sounded to Joye like he was blurting it out. Nonetheless, she blushed, and he smiled at her. He held his arms out for her and she took the invitation, gladly sinking to her knees to the warmth of his embrace. He kissed her temple, one hand on her shoulder and the other on her side, and Joye had enough time to note the chasteness of it before he asked “What do you want?”</p><p>Now she blinked, uncertain. That had never been a question posed to a heroine in this situation—at least that she’d ever read. Joye bit her lip. “Isn’t—isn’t it obvious?”</p><p>He hummed, and drew her closer to him. She went gladly, curling next to his chest, for the comfort of warmth, the comfort of his strength, his support, his love—she could feel his breathing, in and out, and how it paused before he whispered in her ear, “Tell me something you want me to do.”</p><p>Joye looked up at him, her brow creased and her heart, it felt like, skipping beats. Stephanivien wasn’t acting like—well, like almost anything she’d expected. Didn’t he know there were scripts, she almost wanted to say. Instead, though: “Carry me to the bed?”</p><p>He answered her with a brief press of his lips to hers, then she felt his grip around her tighten. On instinct she wrapped her arms around his neck, and the next second she was weightless in his arms, for bare moments it felt like she was sure it was <em>meant </em>to feel, overwhelming and uncontrolled, then he was softly settling them both down on her bed.</p><p>Another thing that never seemed to happen in stories was furniture of the wrong size, but now—she realized, to a combination of chagrin and a tiny thrill, that she’d been underestimating how poorly Stephanivien would fit in her bed. He was settling down not quite sat astride it, his shoulders resting against the wall, above her headboard. Joye shivered with anticipation, for surely any moment now he would push her down to the mattress, or pin her wrists above her head, or spread her legs—</p><p>Instead, though, he cradled her in his arms, holding her in his lap, and just before she would have thought to break the silence, he said again: “Tell me something you want me to do.”</p><p>And Joye could have asked him to do that. She could have said to lay her down, take her in hand—but instead, she said “Take out my braids, please.”</p><p>Stephanivien made a little sound of surprise, but he assented readily. With as much delicacy as if he handled clockwork pieces, he tugged at the ribbons holding her braided tails in place, first the right, then the left—he tried to give the two ribbons to her but on an impulse Joye shook her head, and closed his hand around them; she whispered “Keep them,” and heard him almost moan. Encouraged, Joye helped him finger-comb out her hair, loose and kinked and past her shoulders—then she swept it off her back, bent her head forward, and said, “My bodice is too tight.”</p><p>And this was sort of thing an assertive sort of heroine would say, but still it seemed right, to her, to say it. Stephanivien must have agreed, because he chuckled and then his dextrous hands were on her ribs, over her bodice. He rearranged her in his lap, and she let him, so that she sat back to him, almost primly perched on his knee, and then began to unlace her bodice.</p><p>Despite her assertive behavior, Joye had still felt a little jangle in her nerves as she asked it of him—she’d never been before Stephanivien’s gaze without full coverage and full support, full shaping before, and while that sort of thing may have never been an issue in books, she <em>did</em> already know it was sometimes one in life. But as he loosened her bodice, she felt her worries relax and dissolve away, because from just his touch—from just his touch, she could feel the reverence in how careful he was, and his breathing behind her was even growing heavier, more heated—and she could swear that just like a heroine she could <em>feel</em> his gaze, like longing were a palpable force.</p><p>“Take it off,” Joye whispered. </p><p>Stephanivien did, pulled it away and let it drop to the floor, and there was a quality, a certain tight and hoarse quality to his voice that she didn’t think she’d ever heard before, as he asked “May I touch you?”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” Joye said, shivering again but this time with all concerns about chills long gone. She turned to face him just in time to be pulled into a fierce embrace, his hands starting at her almost-bare shoulders before roaming down. The material of her shift was so thin, it might as well have not existed—that was how clearly she could feel his warmth, his callouses, his strength, his <em>desire</em>. That was what animated his movements, how he stroked down her back, squeezed her soft waist and traced the contours of her hips, and it made Joye so giddy with delight, so high it felt like a rush of <em>power</em>, that without thinking any further she grabbed his lapels and pushed her mouth against his.</p><p>Even though their teeth clicked together it didn’t perturb him, and he kissed her back with equal fervor—maybe greater, she thought, and because she was so overcome, this time she asked him “And—and can I touch you?”</p><p>“<em>Please</em>,” he said, definitely moaning, dragging his lips across her cheek, to nip at her ear.</p><p>So Joye did, exploring first his chest (not quite daring to dip below his clothes yet, no matter how inviting the deep-V of his collar was), the hard flat planes of it so different, so right. And under her slender fingertips—gods, but she could feel muscle jump, stretch and bunch and she’d watched it move before, secretly fascinated, as Stephanivien worked the steel or trained, but <em>feeling</em> it was even better. His hands now were on her thighs, massaging over the soft flesh there, and now Joye’s breath was coming quicker—this was becoming overwhelming, but she didn’t mind, it was just like it ought to be, or must be, her shift starting to bunch and ride up, her entire body pink and warm and alive with sensation. Because she needed to touch him, all of him, right then or she would lose her mind, Joye pushed herself up to straddle his lap, pushed herself flush against him and reveled in the feel, his lithe and corded body, how it didn’t give while she <em>did</em>, how <em>big</em> he was, from shoulders to ribs to hips to <em>oh</em></p><p><em>—oh </em> <b> <em>no—</em> </b></p><p>Joye went abruptly still when she felt it, and after a moment, so did he. And she waited (and so did he) for that unpleasant jolt to pass, for it to turn to a thrill, like always happened in everything she’d read... but it didn’t. As she started moving again, very hesitant, very slow, it got worse, in fact; it turned to a tremulous dread and misery and made a home for itself deep in her chest. Without asking (but trusting he would understand), she took one hand from his chest and gingerly lowered it to his groin, to confirm. And he shuddered as she stroked the massive bulge in his trousers, and so did she, but they were reactions of wholly different affect. A chaotic, miserable morass of thoughts filled Joye’s mind right then, an uncomprehending stuttering failure of expectations, a terrified and slightly awed wondering at exact dimension, and most of all a despairing certainty that this would never work. All of a sudden, Joye wanted to cry.</p><p>And then, Stephanivien gently lifted her chin, to look her in the face, and Joye realized she had been frightened to consider what his reaction might have been—but the expression he wore was one of gentle understanding.</p><p>“We don’t have to,” he said, and Joye felt a hot stinging at the back of her eyes.</p><p>“But if we can’t—if <em>I </em>can’t—“ If she couldn’t satisfy him—the dread and misery that lived in her chest now came roaring out. He would leave her, it said, he would want someone else, someone better, less afraid, a better fit—</p><p>“We can’t now. But—“ Stephanivien stroked her cheek, reassuring, then kissed her forehead. “With some work, we can, my dear.”</p><p>Now Joye blinked at him, but at least no tears fell. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“With some... stretching,” he said, voice careful and delicate—Joye looked down, to where his hand rested atop her thigh— “With some training,” he said, and a fragment of memory surfaced in her mind, how heroines usually would find it easier subsequent times— “Maybe it would help.”</p><p>Joye thought about it, for a while. She let herself breathe more slowly, let herself feel the heat and chill alike, and she thought.</p><p>And just as Stephanivien was starting to say “We don’t have—“</p><p>“I want to,” Joye said quickly. She placed both her hands on Stephanivien’s, wrapping her fingers around his, and even though she was blushing pink looked him in the face. “Please.”</p><p>He squeezed her hands. “As you wish.”</p><p>Gently Stephanivien rearranged her on his lap, so that her back rested against his front, her head pillowed on his chest and his erection still pressing into her backside, but she pushed that worry from her mind. Instead she watched as Stephanivien delicately pushed up the hem of her shift, until it was bunched atop the curve of her belly, and—and she was exposed to the open air, and even though she’d been very aware that Stephanivien could see near everything through the thin fabric, still—</p><p>He kissed her temple. “If anything ever hurts, just tell me,” he murmured. “I’ll stop.”</p><p>Then his hand nudged between her thighs, and after a reflexive quiver she spread them—how wide should she go? she wondered briefly, was this enough or ought she to—</p><p>“<em>Oh</em>,” she whispered, her worry vanished, because now he was touching her and <em>oh—</em></p><p>“Relax, my dear,” he crooned, and she tried to, but—but this was different from all the other times she’d touched herself; his hands were much larger and—and he used them <em>differently, </em>and maybe she might have been able to articulate how if this wasn’t already <em>good. </em>“You’re so wet,” he murmured in her ear and it was clear it was praise, but beyond that—beyond that all her thoughts were of his skillful fingers, how they slid between her lips (and it was always best when it was just her when she was so wet and slick), how his thumb—<em>worked</em> over her little nub, and then—</p><p>“Mmmf—!”</p><p>—then she only realized how much she’d been squirming when she went very still as he slid his first finger inside her. It was... there was a sort of a burn, but not a bad burn, in fact...</p><p>“Should I stop?”</p><p>“No—keep going, <em>please</em>,” Joye panted, seeking out his free hand with hers. She twined her fingers with his, squeezing to reassure him—he kissed the top of her head, and kept going.</p><p>Stephanivien still kept his thumb on her little nub, working it in little circles, as he stroked and stretched inside her, and it didn’t <em>hurt</em>, but something about it made her want to tense up, to curl around his hand, tighter and tighter until she couldn’t move anymore, until the only thing that could move were his fingers—</p><p>“Oh—<em>oh—“ </em>And this was where she usually stopped, just as the feeling became overwhelming but he kept going <em>through</em> it, teased her and stretched her and kissed her and loved her and “Ohhh...”</p><p>“There...” Stephanivien said, in between the kisses he pressed to her loose hair. “And if we keep that up...”</p><p>“Soon?” Joye asked.</p><p>“Soon, my dear,” he agreed.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Joye was nothing if she was not diligent. Ever since she was very young, she had had that sort of mind for duty and obligation, and it had served her very well, before and after the Haillenarte family had taken her into their service. It made her the Countess’s favorite, the Count’s dependable one, and honestly she’d been so used to her usefulness being the trait that won her favor, it had made falling in love with the aforementioned two’s son an experience as strange as it was magical. It had been a relationship where her diligence and usefulness were ancillary if they were at all... and then the question of carnal relations had arisen, and all the accompanying anxieties it had brought to bear in Joye’s mind even before that tender night in her bedroom, now more than a fortnight ago.</p>
<p>As a pious girl, as a diligent daughter, as a respectable maidservant, she was bound by restrictions in her behavior that Stephanivien never had endured. Indeed, as she had gathered through the years she worked in the household, for the him the pressures were opposite—or, not <em>exactly</em> the opposite. Moral conduct was very important for a viscount—but then, so was <em>manful</em> conduct, and in Ishgard at least men were not ignorant of how to woo a lover, how to win them, how to kiss and please and satisfy them. And as much as she had blushed and blocked her ears when the matter came up in the house, she knew Stephanivien had not discarded that facet of his birthright and obligation quite as totally as he had knighthood.</p>
<p>She had known this abstractly, but as of the past few weeks—well, now it was <em>intimate</em> knowledge, that with his clever hands he could leave her breathless and wanting, reduced to needful moans and tight clinging to his shirt and longing gaze—waiting for her diligence in stretching and training to pay off.</p>
<p>And if she had her way, it would be tonight.</p>
<p>Joye had spotted the opportunity over a week ago. Business, pleasure, obligation and weather had overlapped just so, leaving the manor all but empty for one night. And with Stephanivien offering a few more of the staff double-time for going home early... It was the sort of opportunity not likely to resurface for the rest of the year, and she meant to make the most of it—not just have a hurried and furtive tryst, but make a proper occasion of it, dinner and conversation and when she brought it up to Stephanivien he’d been even more enthusiastic than she was. It had taken her some work to talk him out of taking her to the theatre—but he would not be dissuaded from dinner at one of Ishgard’s finest restaurants.</p>
<p>They could be trusted, he had persuaded her, to respect their privacy—else they’d lose the custom from all the other Ishgardian lords and ladies engaged in illicit affairs (were they really that many? she’d asked; he’d answered there was more than she could imagine). They would eat in a private room, and besides, with how she’d be dressed and made up to fit the dress code, frankly there’d be no chance she’d be recognized. So she had agreed, and by the merciful Fury, but she’d made the right decision. </p>
<p>Joye was decked out like a princess, in the finest clothes Stephanivien could procure for her—she didn’t dare ask him how or how much, only resolved to be more careful than she ever had been in her life. And since she had worn heeled shoes on precisely six occasions prior to this, well—it was good that no one would look askance at how she clung to Stephanivien’s arm in this circumstance.</p>
<p>(But at the same time—at the same time as it made her nerves jangle it made her heart burst, for to be beautiful like this, to be delicate and fragile, as she stepped out of a carriage and walked to the restaurant’s door with her highborn lover—she’d never felt a better fit for a heroine—)</p>
<p>The little room the maitre d’hotel had led them too was low-lit, only a few candles and their reflections off gold and silver—and there would be six courses, which sounded to Joye like a whole day’s worth of food—when she said so to Stephanivien, though, he chuckled.</p>
<p>“The most extravagant dinner this house serves has twenty-one courses,” he said, giving her a sly look.</p>
<p>“What?!” Joye exclaimed. “I mean—<em>how</em>?”</p>
<p>“Some people have sizable appetites,” he returned, with that same look, and Joye let herself blush, let him be amused by it, let herself sink into the luxury he promised without further questions.</p>
<p>The first course was pork rillette with a white wine—it interrupted a lively conversation regarding automata, and though it didn’t look terribly special to Joye, when she tasted it the conversation was almost forgotten entirely. The contrast between the salty-savory taste and its perfectly smooth texture struck her, and the bread was crusty in a familiar, grounding way, and she would, she resolved privately, eat this again, on her own. Then came the soup—a baked onion soup, topped with bread and cheese and served with a sherry (will there be a different drink with each one? she’d asked Stephanivien after the waiter had left, and inwardly marveled when he’d casually said yes). And this alone, Joye privately thought, would be an adequate meal, but there were four more courses to come.</p>
<p>Baked pipira pira en papillote was next (Stephanivien’s fish nearly twice the size of hers, but of course so fancy an establishment wouldn’t treat its patrons as interchangeably as others did, Joye realized). The fish flaked perfectly, without a bone to be had, and infused with a delicate fruity flavor on top of the fish’s own taste—and it matched the fruity wine it was served with too perfectly. </p>
<p>“The main, if it please—steak au cinq poivre.” </p>
<p>Joye must have looked dazed, because Stephanivien asked him if he could pour less wine and bring them some water—but it wasn’t the wine going to her head, but the sheer <em>extravagance</em>, and she almost worried she’d feel dirty at the expense of it all in the morning... Then Stephanivien found her hand under the table, held it tenderly, and she nudged her foot against his in return. It was already more than worth it, and tonight was only going to get better.</p>
<p>A slice each of a rich chocolate gateau followed the cake, and by now Joye was beyond full—not uncomfortably, but she took her time eating, pleasantly conscious of how Stephanivien watched her. All his attempts at conversation died quickly, he was clearly too preoccupied with her mouth to manage his own adequately—it was obvious what he considered, and with a bit of playful pride Joye drew out the last bites, for his pleasure as well as hers.</p>
<p>The final course, as natural in Ishgard, was a cheese, and compared to the others it was small: a lump of goats’ cheese, warm, drizzled with honey and ringed by sliced pear. And as Joye was thanking the waiter, before she could take her share—Stephanivien took a spoonful, and silently offered it to her. And after a moment, Joye took it, savored the blend of tartness and sweetness—the next bite, though, she held Stephanivien’s gaze with her own. Her skin heated, her breath trembled, and her heart pounded wildly, but she kept her eyes on him as he fed her the final course.</p>
<p>“Gods...” Stephanivien murmured. “Gods, I can barely wait...”</p>
<p>They managed to make it to the carriage, and get the door shut first, at least. After that was an almost disorienting blur of pleasure—her shoes and gloves lost, pulled atop Stephanivien’s lap even as he slouched sideways, kissing any part of her he could touch, and touching almost all of her— between the bouncing of the carriage and her lover’s attention, keeping her wits about her was all Joye could do.</p>
<p>(And secretly, she wished she could banish her wits entirely, and succumb, be overwhelmed, be laid low, be all those things she ought to be, here in his arms—)</p>
<p>“We’re here,” finally brought her back to reality—on reflex she tried to push herself back upright and respectable, but was interrupted by Stephanivien scooping her up in his arms, carrying her from the carriage to a back entrance of the manor, one that the staff and servants used. And because Joye didn’t know how she ought to feel, to be carried like a bride, made up like a princess, through the back halls she used as one of the maids—she chose not to feel things about that, she busied herself   with stroking Stephanivien’s hair, kissing his neck, murmuring breathy, eager in his ear, until all she felt was warmth, pooling low in her belly.</p>
<p>He took the stairs two at a time (making her squeak), until they arrived at his bedroom, and while Joye had of course been in her before, never before had she been in here so high off the ground—and even with a higher perspective, still it seemed his bed dominated that room. As befitting the Viscount de Haillenarte, it was canopied and covered in pillows and coverlets and absolutely immaculately made (a clear sign that the man himself almost never made use of it). But tonight, for her...</p>
<p>Stephanivien deposited her gently on the bed, and she had time to notice how little effect her weight had on the springs—until he climbed on after her and the mattress dipped and bowed beneath them both now.</p>
<p>“Gods—<em>finally—“</em> Stephanivien murmured as he began ripping off his jacket and neck scarf; Joye giggled.</p>
<p>“One would almost think your lordship didn’t care for a dress code,” she said with mock primness.</p>
<p>“I don’t,” he replied, wide grin as he tossed them to the floor behind him. “Only you.” Joye blushed pink and leaned forward to help him with his shirt buttons, fumbling almost as much as he was (no doubt due to trying to kiss him while she did).</p>
<p>When his shirt was off, and undershirt peeled away, she kissed him all the harder before trailing down his neck—or, well, or trying to, he pushed her gently away from him—away and turned around so her very heroine-worthy pout was out of his sight, so he could unlace her bodice... And in a single shuddering breath, for an instant she wasn’t in the manor, but in her own home, with slanting afternoon light instead of starlight, sitting on his lap the first time he had ever done this—then she was back, and his bed seemed so much bigger and lusher for that brief absence.</p>
<p>Stephanivien kissed her temple. “All right?”</p>
<p>Joye realized she’d begun trembling, but stilled herself as best she could, and nodded firmly. She couldn’t imagine being better.</p>
<p>And then, Stephanivien put her bodice aside, paused a moment, and observed “There are more layers than the last time,” and she burst out laughing.</p>
<p>“Really, this was <em>your</em> idea!” Joye said through her laughter. “I could already be in my smalls otherwise!”</p>
<p>“I know, I know,” he said, and Joye could feel him getting to work on the rest of the layered gown. “But it’s worth it, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Mmm, yes...” Joye said, and now she watched herself as she was unclothed. Under his hands, before her eyes, the clothes that had gained her entry to high society, that had shaped her into almost a lady, were slowly loosened and peeled away. Joye thought fleetingly of it as like an orange or lemon losing its skin, losing its shape—but no, she wasn’t really losing anything. It was always <em>her</em> underneath, and that was what mattered. No clothes—not even the fine little chemise as the very last layer—could change that.</p>
<p>“Leave it on,” she said, and Stephanivien made a needy little sound but obeyed.</p>
<p>“Now the rest of this—nonsense—“ More costly Pillars tailoring went falling to the floor, and when it was all gone he stretched for a moment, and Joye momentarily forgot how to breathe. She’d seen all of him before, yes, but before it’d been in bits and pieces, never all at once, and never stretched out under starlight, highlighting the curve of his back, the corded muscles in his arms...</p>
<p>“Please,” someone said, and it surprised her to realize it was her.</p>
<p>Smiling fondly at her, Stephanivien turned to face her again, his golden hair, now loose, backlit into something like a halo. “Don’t worry, I’m here,” he said, holding out his hand to her. When she took it, he kissed her knuckles—then levered himself over her.</p>
<p>And Joye had grown used too to the sight of his cock, both flaccid and erect. As he had learned how to pleasure her, so she had insisted on returning the favors, learning what he liked directly and indirectly (she would never forget the sound he made the first time she’d accidentally nipped him). By now she was familiar, and thus no longer afraid, but still... something about the starlight, and it <em>must</em> have been just the starlight... it all seemed different under it.</p>
<p>From under the pillow he had retrieved a little vial, and Joye was brought out of reverie by the sound it made when poured—as before familiar, and yet... “I’m ready, Stephanivien,” Joye said, almost protesting. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”</p>
<p>“Now, now—“ he said over the slick sounds of the oil being worked over his fingers, “I don’t want to hurt you, my dear.” And Joye might have pouted a bit, but when he beckoned to her she nestled up against his front, kissed his chest and spread her legs for him.</p>
<p>By now, Joye proudly thought, she was an old hand at this, rocking eagerly against his hand as first his middle, then his ring finger slid inside her. No longer bothered by the burn, she squirmed becomingly in his arms, rewarded by the hitch in his breath, the tightening of his other arm around her. And even though she probably should’ve waited for the third finger, the difficult one, still she whispered in Stephanivien’s ear: “Please—please, I’m ready, I promise... please, I want to come on—on your cock, <em>please...”</em></p>
<p>And that must have been the magic words, because the next thing she knew, her back was on the blankets, as his head descended to her breasts, mouthing at them through the chemise. “Gods—what you do to me—<em>gods—“ </em>Unrepentant, Joye laughed and took hold of his head by both long ears, stroking and fondling until it was <em>his </em>turn to beg for relief. “Please—Joye, my dearest—if you—I can’t...”</p>
<p>“Yes,” she gasped, relinquishing his ears—he reared up on his knees, to line his cock up—helpfully she hooked her knees up over his hips—and then it was time, then she was reaching up to squeeze his shoulders as he began to push inside her, then there was nothing but warmth and stretching and his panting above her and the taut, trembling musculature of his torso before her and her blood rushing in her ears and the agonizing pain.</p>
<p>He was barely in... and yet... and yet he was <em>stopping</em>, holding still, and Joye’s brows furrowed in distress. Why...?</p>
<p>“Joye...?” His voice sounded strained.</p>
<p>“I’ll adjust,” she said, because she had to, she would of course accommodate him, she <em>had to—</em></p>
<p>Then he moved. He moved and between her legs lit up like a flare, and she couldn’t stifle her pained gasp, it ripped out of her mouth, tense and tight as her grip on him. But... “It’s fine... I’ll be fine.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” He sounded as agonized as she felt, and she nodded as vigorously as she could... but...</p>
<p>But he pulled out.</p>
<p>“Stephanivien...?” Even though he was gone, still a lingering pain throbbed; it felt like squeezing her thighs together might soothe it but stubbornly she kept them spread.</p>
<p>“We’re not doing this,” he said, firmly, and Joye felt her heart sink.</p>
<p>“But—“</p>
<p>“Joye...” He leaned closer to her face, cupped her cheek in one hand, and gently said, “I will not hurt you.” And his tenderness cut her to the quick, such that she immediately teared up.</p>
<p>“But—please, Stephanivien...” When he shook his head, her own started shaking, near-reflexively as the tears began to fall. “Stephan, please—“ because if she couldn’t please him, if she couldn’t do this one simple thing—women all over the world could do, but—</p>
<p>“I will not hurt you,” he repeated, and Joye’s next breath became a sob as all the fairytale evening came crashing down around her.</p>
<p>“It’s—it’s not <em>fair...”</em> she hiccuped, and when Stephanivien’s arms went around she went into his embrace, and he let her cry.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i am kinda technically supposed to be writing a dissertation now, apologies in advance if the next chapter is a long time in coming :’D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>kept you waiting, huh</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In retrospect, pinpointing when it started would be hard—neither Joye nor Stephanivien would wind up able to find a beginning both agreed upon. They could begin at the beginning of that day, but then, there was nothing about its beginning that was itself particularly notable. Just another Firesday, long and dull and containing really only the satisfaction of ending the work-week. Anticipation of tomorrow—which should by rights have been the day it happened, or at least started—was the primary bright spot for Joye, at least. After their prior ill-fated special night, a few weeks past, she’d tentatively approached him about another (but smaller, less portentous, just in case...) and had been glad for his eager agreement. Tomorrow, they would prepare a nice, <em>reasonably-sized</em> meal (Stephanivien chuckled at Joye’s insistence on this matter) in his garret, and perhaps play some games, and then—then, they’d try again. </p>
<p>That was how it should start, and Joye had been looking forward to that beginning all through her shift that Firesday, and again when she went to join Stephanivien in the manufactory. She arrived a bare five minutes after the bells rang for seven o’clock—the designated supper bell for this shift—and found the building wholly empty... except, of course, for him.</p>
<p>He was not working the steel—nor was he at the firing range—nor was he even tweaking one of his inventions. Instead, Stephanivien was actually relaxing, sitting at a table with the half-cleared remains of a chess game atop it, reading an old paperback book. And though Joye was mostly sure he must have known she was there, still she hung back, studying him—or no, “studying” was too fine, too elevated a word to put on it. It made her interest sound academic, when instead it was with a primal focus she gazed at the defined line of his jaw, the shadow of his eyelashes—his half-unbuttoned shirt, his legs spread to straddle the back of the chair he was sitting at, and most of all...</p>
<p>In his left hand he held the book, but his right hand was playing with one of the pieces from the chessboard. And not as if he was playing against some imaginary opponent. Instead he worked the piece over and around each of his fingers, over and over, just like a mountebank, deft and dextrous and Fury, she wanted him. Joye knew what those fingers could do to more than just wooden pieces, and she almost shuddered as he spun it with his thumb then flipped it over his index finger. It might be fairly said that it started then and there—or a moment later, when he called her in from the hallway.</p>
<p>“You don’t need to lurk like that,” Stephanivien said, putting his book down (but still finessing the chess piece). “It makes me wonder if you aren’t a vampire, my dear.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps I am,” Joye said, trying to take her eyes (and her mind) off Stephanivien’s dexterity. “But then, do vampires like pastries?” With the last word, she dropped a parcel fresh from the Haillenarte manor kitchens on the chessboard.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t imagine they did—thank you!” He opened it, revealing two each of cinnamon buns and almond croissants. “Though—I think the point still stands,” Stephanivien continued as Joye pulled up a chair and sat across from him, “why <em>do</em> you wait so long before coming in?”</p>
<p>Oh dear—Joye, yes, had expected him to have noticed on some instances... but now he’d put together the pattern, or at least in part. She waited because she would take any opportunity just to watch him, sometimes—now, caught in it, what to say?</p>
<p>“Well—to be honest—“ and when it started Joye was not planning to be honest, instead was trying to spin up a reason, and probably if she kept on not making eye contact with him he’d doubt whatever she said, but she couldn’t <em>stop—</em>his curious face was and remained on the periphery of her vision, focused inexorably upon how he was still cleverly manipulating that chess piece. “To be honest...”</p>
<p>At once the piece vanished, and after a half-second blinking, Joye realized Stephanivien had palmed it. “Sorry to be distracting,” he said, and judging by his expression (now much easier to focus on) he was was in earnest. “You were saying...?”</p>
<p>And that was when Joye started going pink, and took a bite of a cinnamon bun to cover it. On one level, to be embarrassed to be caught watching him was absurd, when both of them had seen all of the other multiple times by now—it had to be, Joye thought, the circumstances in which she’d been caught. She’d been awkwardly stealing glances at him whenever she could find the opportunity for a long time now, long before she could have imagined ever stealing more...</p>
<p>But in her silence, Stephanivien was studying her, and with him “studying” really was the right word to use. The intelligence behind his eyes was very present, seeking out answers to his question—and just as he was glancing away, surely about to demurr—</p>
<p>“I like watching,” Joye said suddenly, swallowing a mouthful of pastry. “Watching you.”</p>
<p>And it didn’t take Stephanivien more than half a second to digest the insinuation, the real meaning behind such a simple statement, attested to in her nervous manner. He gave her a crooked smile. “I don’t mind, my dear.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but—“ Joye, still pink, tried to say, but—</p>
<p>“It’s flattering, really.”</p>
<p>And Joye was going to explain to him that the nerves were just a habit, that peeping was still rude, that even if he didn’t mind her ogling him the Countess <em>absolutely</em> would—she was going to clarify all of that, except that his crooked smile turned sly and that godsdamned chess piece reappeared, cheekily sliding out from between the knuckles of his first and middle fingers.</p>
<p>“You are flustering me on purpose,” Joye managed, tearing off  another bite of the cinnamon roll and unable to tear her eyes from his hands.</p>
<p>“I am,” Stephanivien said with great (albeit partially affected) nonchalance. He did more tricks with the chess piece, made it flip, turn, slither between his fingers as if it could move on its own, as focused on her as she was on him. “You are impossibly cute when flustered.”</p>
<p>Of course, if there was anything else he could have said that would have made her blush more, that was it. Still, she fought to keep her composure, and through a little giggle said, “My lord has the advantage,” in a tone that suggested she was playing at putting on airs. “He knows how to get the better of me, and yet I have no corresponding power.”</p>
<p>He laughed, and then quieted, stilling his hands. “Oh, you do though, my dear.” His voice was fond, but there was a growing intensity in its undertones. “Gods, what you do to me...”</p>
<p>A thrill went up Joye’s spine, and she leaned closer to him. “My lord, I still find myself at the disadvantage,” she said, and it was hard to keep up this affectation through the urge to grin ear to ear, “for you know precisely how to play me, yet I am unconscious of how I play you.”</p>
<p>And this was an exaggeration, somewhat. Joye wasn’t totally ignorant of what he liked, of how to please him—but still, still! Stephanivien seemed to have a maddening ability to just—just become so very desirable, effortlessly, whenever he wanted, and she couldn’t imagine how she could do anything to compare. So when he responded—</p>
<p>“In total frankness, my dear—“ and he wasn’t playing at any games, it was clear from his expression, eyes fixed on hers, “that you are so <em>eager</em> to have my cock, despite everything, is...” He trailed off, seemingly lost for words for a moment, “...delicious.”</p>
<p>Perhaps that was when it started, perhaps that was the moment. Then again, perhaps it truly began when Joye leaned so close over the table her breasts pushed the remaining chess pieces down and away, and asked “Why should I be anything else?”</p>
<p>At once, Joye thought, the atmosphere in the manufactory changed, as if instead of a chessboard there was an aetherotransformer between them, charging the air with crackling electricity. Was this the power Stephanivien had meant? Certainly he seemed disarmed by her question—but not displeased.</p>
<p>“You tell me,” he breathed. “Surely there are many reasons a maiden w—“</p>
<p>“Am I really a maiden?” Joye interrupted to challenge him coyly. “My lord’s hands have known me thoroughly, after all.”</p>
<p>“Touché,” Stephanivien said, and where before he had seemed disarmed, now there was a readiness to his tone—he leaned forward to match her, chair balanced on its back two legs. “Perhaps not ‘maiden’ but simply ‘maid’—I would not and ought not think such about a girl in my household, you know.”</p>
<p>Joye laughed at that, thoroughly enjoying the paradoxical play of innocence and— “Why not, when I think such about my lord—and his hands—and his <em>cock—</em>all through my shifts?”</p>
<p>“<em>Gods—“ </em>And that was apparently too much for him, he leaned forward and caught her lips with his and Joye let him, smiling as she kissed back.</p>
<p>He stood, without breaking the kiss, stood and kicked his chair away—then he was scooping her up, to her delighted gasping.</p>
<p>“My word, Stephanivien—I didn’t think this was new to you,” Joye said as she reflexively twined her arms around his neck.</p>
<p>“It’s not, but—but the way you <em>said</em> it—“ He was groaning with plain arousal as he said it, and his grasp of her somehow felt hungry. </p>
<p>“Should I keep it up?” Joye asked, and it would have been playful but for jostling—not intentional, just that Stephanivien had covered the distance between them and that ratty old couch kept in the manufactory in just a few strides, and deposited her seated atop its back.</p>
<p>“You’ll keep me up if you do,” he muttered—and then in one motion flipped up her skirts as he knelt before her. “If you can,” he added slyly.</p>
<p>Automatically Joye grabbed hold of her skirts, pulled them up closer to her chest, her heart hammering in anticipation. Stephanivien had only done this to her once before, one day of exploring her fully, he’d wanted to do, and she still thought about it, still tried to get up the nerve proper to ask him to do it some more, but now—</p>
<p>“I—I think about <em>this</em> a lot—“ Joye tried, gasping at the end as Stephanivien tested the wetness of her smallclothes with his fingertips (even such an echo of a touch was so affecting now—). “I remember your mouth, and—and your <em>tongue</em>, oh, gods...” He was pushing and pulling at her smalls, trying to find a way to get them out of the way, naturally, but the echoes of that pressed on her, and it was new enough a sort of feeling, that— “If—I don’t much care for these smalls, my lord—“ And Joye thought that she heard a chuckle before she heard them rip, felt herself ungirdled and moaned with the relief.</p>
<p>She couldn’t see much of Stephanivien, from the angle and from her skirts, how she needed to both hold them up and keep her balance on the narrow sofa back—and weirdly, she thought, perhaps that might have enhanced the whole experience. She had no way of knowing or even guessing what he might do next, or when he might, so the anticipation alone—</p>
<p>Joye heard an “Mmm,” from under her bundled petticoat and then—</p>
<p>“Oh!” She almost shouted from his boldness, what must have been his entire face pressed against her, and his tongue already finding entry inside— “My—oh, gods...”</p>
<p>He’d wanted her to talk. That thought suddenly re-emerged, and if he was—Fury, if he was being so <em>good</em> to her, so attentive, so clever-tongued, then the least she could do—</p>
<p>“I—I think about this—about you—all the time, it’s the best way to pass long—mmmph, long hours, please, again, do it again...” Joye’s legs were kicking against the side of the couch, ankles turning and toes curling. “Your hands, your mouth—your cock, gods, I wish I could—I <em>want—!”</em></p>
<p>Stephanivien’s motions felt hungrier against her—suddenly both his hands were squeezing her thighs, making her squeak; he spread her open further until Joye felt herself toppling backwards, she had to let go of her skirts to brace herself so she didn’t fall over. “When I’m alone—or not, sometimes, I—oh gods, Stephan, please...” She was trying, really she was, to hold herself together enough to talk the way he’d said he liked, he had asked her to, but she just couldn’t. It was too much, too perfect, how he used his mouth and pressed his nose against her and his tongue was inside her and the wet sounds coming from between her legs were almost absurd but mostly obscene and he was kneading her thighs, the soft padded parts, like—</p>
<p>Joye suddenly whimpered and shuddered, an image fixed in her mind of how her thighs would look with his cock between and a lewd whispering from the darkest part of her mind, one she never dared voice aloud, <em>padding for pounding, meant for him, a big elezen cock, made for fucking, made for—</em></p>
<p>And she squirmed so vigorously as she came that she finally fell off the back of the couch, landing with a squeak on the cushions below.</p>
<p>“Joye?!” Stephanivien’s voice sounded alarmed, but he had no need to be, Joye was breathlessly giggling under her hiked-up skirts falling over her head, aware she must look ridiculous and not really able to care.</p>
<p>“‘m fine,” she said, then again, louder and more clearly as she pushed her skirts back down. “I’m fine.” Stephanivien, she could now see, was leaning over the couch back, relieved and panting and she beckoned to him, to come join her.</p>
<p>With more agility than she expected he levered himself over and onto the cushions, crawling over her to kiss her neck—and if Joye had doubted her ability to keep him <em>up</em>, the ardor in his eager kisses would have dispelled it. </p>
<p>“Has—mmm, has my lord not had his fill?” It was easier to keep enough wits about her to play the coquette now, with his mouth where it was; he groaned and his next kiss had teeth to it.</p>
<p>“‘m near to <em>starving,” </em>he growled—and Joye hadn’t known Stephanivien could make his voice do that, could vibrate like that, and she made a keening noise in response.</p>
<p>And normally, this was where she would volunteer to return the favor, where they’d flip over and she would stroke or suck him to climax—but—</p>
<p>“Stephan,” she said, softly, slowly, but not shyly, “I want to try again.”</p>
<p>Joye didn’t clarify—she didn’t need to, the way Stephanivien stilled for a moment indicated he understood.</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” The groans and growls were gone, he asked her in the same slow and soft voice she’d used, and she nodded.</p>
<p>“I want <em>you</em>,” she said, reaching up to cup his cheek, turn his face to hers. “And—and I’ve had your hands, and your mouth, and—I want <em>all</em> of you.”</p>
<p>He shivered under her touch, but she also felt his hands at her hips, unsteadily groping. “Even if I can fit,” he muttered hoarsely, “I’m not sure <em>all—“</em></p>
<p><em>“</em>I want to try,” Joye repeated—then, seized with an idea, continued “And if it doesn’t work, then—then you can have me tomorrow—and the day after—keep me in your rooms, until...” And this was not quite letting out that dark animal voice, but it was the closest she’d ever come to it—and it was certainly having an effect on Stephanivien.</p>
<p>“You’re sure,” he groaned, voice strained, and when she nodded— “Then I’ll find an excuse—for you to be on your back in my bed—“</p>
<p>He was gathering his legs underneath him, adjusting position, and Joye scooted backwards, to brace her back against the arm of the couch. “You can wear me out—have me so hard I can’t leave your bed...”</p>
<p>“<em>Gods—“ </em>And now he was undoing the laces of his breeches (and honestly, Joye thought briefly, it looked to be a miracle they’d held), sighing with relief when he pulled his cock free. It stood erect and tall and, Joye thought dizzily, almost the size of her forearm but she wasn’t intimidated; she very deliberately licked her lips and Stephanivien made a hungry sound deep in his throat. “You will be the death of me.”</p>
<p>“I love you too,” Joye murmured, reaching down to stroke him—stifling a giggle when so doing prompted it to twitch. “And I want—more than anything, I want—“</p>
<p>She was cut off by how he spread her legs, pushing her skirts up to her hips. “You want to be fucked, no matter the size...” Stephanivien was saying as he lined himself up, already breathing heavily.</p>
<p>“By <em>you</em>,” Joye insisted, hands finding his shoulders and squeezing as he began to push inside, “Only you, only my—“ Her breath hitched, she trailed off. For a moment, a heartbreaking moment, nothing was happening, there was no give in her—then almost suddenly, there was a slip and the head of his cock was inside her.</p>
<p>It was round and not as hot as she’d been expecting but much, <em>much</em> fuller—she tensed and moaned, fisting her little hands in the shoulders of her lover’s shirt. “All right?” Stephan said, voice tight.</p>
<p>Before he could even think about pulling out, she answered him with “<em>More</em>,” and if it was hubris then so be it.</p>
<p>He gave her more. He slid inside her slowly, and Joye went from arching her back to squirming to squeezing to <em>writhing</em> as more and more inside her opened up, yielded to him... it felt thick, it felt heavy, massive, it felt impossible but it was <em>happening</em> and all that kept tears of happiness from her eyes was the knowledge it’d make this stop.</p>
<p>“—of fucking <em>silk</em>, my <em>gods</em>, Joye—“ she dimly realized that voice was Stephanivien, panting above her head, and whatever he was babbling was absolutely filthy—she let go of his shoulders, reached up and tweaked his ear before asking:</p>
<p>“Is it—all the way?”</p>
<p>“Almost,” he said, in such a tone it might have been a prayer or an oath or a plea. Then suddenly his hands on her hips were cupping her arse, lifting and tilting her so that—</p>
<p>“<em>Yes</em>,” Joye hissed, feeling stretched and strained and divine. “Stephan—I love you, I—oh <em>gods</em>,” that was when he started moving.</p>
<p>He was gentle, he was slow, but all the same—all the same, Joye was so conscious of the restraint... He could’ve been rough, she thought deliriously as she groped at his shoulders and back. The strength of the body under her fingers, the muscles of it—he could have done whatever he wanted with her and just that knowledge was itself almost as powerful as he was, as he felt.</p>
<p>“My dearest,” he panted, neck craned so that she could feel his breath in her ear. “My beloved, my—my—“</p>
<p>“Yours,” Joye agreed, feeling goosebumps form under her fingertips. “Yours, only and always, Stephan—“</p>
<p>The pressure inside her was so incredible, she was sure she’d come from that along, just give her a minute and she’d be coming only from cock—but then his grip on her shifted and he was sliding his thumb against her clit and Joye saw stars.</p>
<p>Again, she begged, and again, and again, and again and again and againagainagain until words left her, until her senses left her, until she came back to herself just in time for Stephan to shout something hoarse and choked and sudden, just as suddenly flooding her with seed, thick and hot and wonderful. He sagged against her, gasping like a drowning man, but Joye bore his weight, stroking his sweat-dampened hair, his shaking sides.</p>
<p>And when the time seemed right—when he started lazily kissing the top of her head, her hair, again—she shyly asked “Did you mean it?”</p>
<p>“Of course I love you,” Stephanivien said lazily, finally shifting his weight up and off her.</p>
<p>“I meant—“ Joye bit her lip, but continued, “—about staying in your rooms.” She stole a look at him through her eyelashes. “For a few days.”</p>
<p>He laughed, but the sound was bright and happy. “I can mean it. For you.”</p>
<p>She leaned up, caught him in a tight hug. “Please. But you’ll have to carry me.” And then she shushed his apologies, softly laughing herself.</p>
<p> </p>
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